


Relativity

by juliabohemian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, I deny your reality and substitute my own, Infinity War AU, Loki Whump, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Shout out to all my occupational therapist friends, Sick Loki (Marvel), Thor's POV, post infinity war au, yes I'm still writing in second person and I'm not sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-02 16:56:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17267873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabohemian/pseuds/juliabohemian
Summary: Post Ragnarok AU in which things turn out very differently for Loki and Thor is completely at a loss.





	Relativity

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why I wrote this. It's not related to any of my other works. I probably won't continue it, since all my effort is going into my WIP. But it has been sitting and it seemed a waste not to post it.

When you are escorted to the room where Loki is being kept, the first thing that you notice is that the lights have been dimmed considerably...to the point where you find it difficult to see. The physician told you that because Loki dwelt so long in total darkness, his eyes had become accustomed to it. Thus, he would have to be reintroduced to light gradually. And only time would tell whether his vision had been permanently affected.

In the center of the room there is a square table with four chairs. But Loki is not seated there. He is crouched down on the floor, in the far corner. There is some sort of cushion behind him... _beanbag_  is what the nurse called it. Loki is clad in a cloth gown that barely comes down to his knees. While his long, thin limbs and feet are bare, he does not appear to be even slightly self conscious about his physical state. He is otherwise occupied. His hands are exploring the space around him, and his fingers are moving with unusual ferocity...as though he is pushing imaginary buttons. There is a strange intensity to his movements. He is not quite speaking...yet little speech-like sounds are escaping his lips. He is carrying on some sort of conversation with himself, alone.

In front of Loki are a several dozen plastic blocks of varying size and color. You watch him for several minutes. He squints at the blocks, knocks them over, stacks them atop one another. He rearranges them and then knocks them over again. Sometimes he lifts the blocks and presses them against his lips or cheek. His face bears no hint of emotion. His expression implies only curiosity and deep concentration.

The woman who accompanied you... _occupational therapist_ is what she called herself, told you that it would be important to stay still and to speak softly. She is short in stature with a kind face. You cannot begin to guess how old she is, in human years. Her thick, curly hair is a light shade of red, streaked with silver and woven into a long braid. It is impossible to ignore that the color and style of her hair are not unlike that of your late mother. But the resemblance goes deeper than that...something beyond her outward appearance, something you can't quite place.

"I brought something for you," she informs Loki.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. When she speaks, Loki turns to look in her general direction. Though he does not look directly at her face. She holds up an object that she brought with her. It resembles a small log, about half a meter long and maybe four centimeters thick. Each end of the object is tightly bound with fur pelts and tied with leather string. Loki's eyes light up immediately when he sees it.

"But if you want it," she adds, gently, "I need you to sit in the chair."

She drags one of the chairs away from the table with her free hand, and then points to it. She then pulls something from her pocket…a laminated card that shows a picture of a boy, sitting in a chair. She holds the picture up for Loki to see.

Loki regards her suspiciously, at first. He squints at the object she is holding in one hand, and then at the chair, and then at the card in her other hand. He blinks rapidly, as he attempts to focus his eyes. You can barely make out the image on the card in such dim light. You wonder how Loki can possibly do so.

"First sit in the chair," she says, once again showing him the card. She raises the other item a second time. "Then you can have this."

You cannot help frowning, both at the sticky sweetness of her tone and the simplicity of her words.

"Has he really become so feeble minded?" you whisper.

"He is no more or less intelligent than he has ever been," she replies. "It's a matter of relevance."

"Relevance?"

"If you spent enough time sitting on the ground in the dark, chairs would no longer be relevant to you. We all take for granted the relationship we have with the people and the objects in our space."

Loki tilts his head, deliberating momentarily. He looks back at the new object, longingly. She holds up the card again.

"First sit in the chair," she repeats, with a smile.

You cringe as you witness your brother crawling reluctantly over to the chair. He moves not like an infant, but crudely...more in the manner of a wild animal. Loki pushes and pulls at the piece of furniture, as though he is unsure of its purpose. He fusses with it a bit, studying its dimensions and smoothing his hands along its surface. When he does finally attempt to put himself in it, he struggles immensely. It is difficult to watch.

The woman is unfazed, however. If anything, she seems pleased. She places the card back into her pocket and transfers the other item to her left hand.

Even though Loki is in the chair, he is clearly experiencing great difficulty remaining upright. He seems...dizzy, as though he cannot maintain his equilibrium. Several times he leans forward and attempts to lay his head on the table. But he must find that position equally uncomfortable, because he straightens up again and slouches against the back of the chair. He sighs, heavily. It is obvious that he would much rather be on the floor.

"Thank you for sitting in the chair," the woman says, warmly.

You notice that she reaches up and taps her chin with her right hand. The gesture seems deliberate.

She pulls another object from the pocket of her coat. It is small and flat. She shows it to Loki, before placing it onto the table.

"This is my timer. I'm setting it for 3 minutes today. Let's stay in the chair for three minutes. Okay?"

She raisers her thumb and two of the fingers on her right hand and holds them in front of Loki's face.

You cringe once more at the cloying tone of her voice. It is as though she is addressing a small child or an infant.

Loki does not respond, of course. He doesn't even look at her. He picks up the object that is now displaying numbers that are rapidly counting down to zero. He smells it and shakes it vigorously, and taps it hard on the table's wood surface. He holds it close to his ear, and then lays it back down. He squints at it intently, watching the digits change.

Finally, the timer chirps. The sound it makes is barely audible. But Loki must be able to hear it just fine. Because he immediately looks at the woman and emits what can only be described as a grunt of urgency. He pinches the fingers on his right hand together and draws them towards his chest. He repeats the motion several times.

"Please?" the woman prompts, gently.

She retrieves the timer and returns it to her coat pocket. She then holds the palm of her right hand up in front of her chest and rotates it several times.

Loki quickly smacks his own chest with the palm of his right hand. Then he repeats the previous gesture...fingers pinched together and drawn towards his chest. Followed by more grunts of urgency.

When she passes the object over to Loki, he takes it eagerly. It is obvious that he is delighted to have the object. He first smells it and then rubs the fur on either end against his face. When the object moves, it makes a peculiar sound, as though thousands of tiny beads are being dropped onto a hard, tile surface...except they are being trickled in slow motion. You have never heard such a sound before. It carries on far longer than you expect, especially considering the length of the item. You know this realm is without magic. And thus, you cannot help being curious about its internal structure.

Loki makes an expression of surprise. He mumbles rapidly to himself, whispering under his breath, all the while turning the object over and over to replicate the sound.

"And thank you?" she reminds him, her tone still sweet. Once again, she taps her own chin.

He doesn't look at her. But he obviously hears her. Because he clumsily taps his chin with the fingers on his right hand, just as she did a moment ago. He then slides off of the chair and crawls back to the corner where he was sitting previously. He reclines against the beanbag and plays with the object, rocking it slowly from one side to the other, reveling in the noise he is creating.

"It's called a rain stick," she explains to you. "Very popular with my patients who have sensory needs."

"You tend to others?" you ask.

"Oh yes...many others," she confirms. "I've been doing this for a long time."

"Others who are like Loki?"

"Others who exhibit behaviors that are similar to Loki's…although not for the same reasons."

"What reason would a person have to behave in this manner?"

"We don't actually know. Most of them are born this way. Some appear to develop the behaviors when they are very young."

"So...those you tend to are children," you clarify. Given her demeanor, that does not surprise you.

"Mostly, yes. But I have also worked with adults who are recovering from various types of brain injury."

"What was he doing just then?"

"What do you mean?"

"With his hand."

You smack your own chest, pinch your fingers and tap your chin, imitating the motions you observed.

"It's sign language," she replies. She pinches her fingers together as Loki did. "This sign means  _give me_. The others are  _please_  and  _thank you_."

"What purpose does that serve?"

"It's a tool that we use it for people who can't or won't communicate verbally."

"I do not understand," you admit. "If he does not care to speak, why would he care to communicate with his hands?"

"I've only been working with him for about three weeks. And he's already memorized and accurately used about sixty different signs. That's...substantially accelerated. Of course, I do usually work with three to five year olds."

"If he can do all of that, why not simply speak?"

"Maybe he doesn't want to speak. Maybe he has forgotten how. This way, at least he can communicate his needs. And maybe, when he's ready, he will speak again."

"What if he is never ready?" you wonder, aloud.

"Whatever it was that happened to him...however that experience affected him, I'm told that it did so over a great span of time. I cannot imagine that it will be undone overnight."

"It appears he has forgotten me as well," you lament, softly.

"I know it seems that way. But to forget something does not necessarily imply that it is lost. The memory of you is still in there there somewhere. He simply cannot retrieve it. At the very least, he is aware that you are in this room. You're just not relevant to him right now. Neither am I, for that matter."

"That doesn't trouble you?"

"Being irrelevant?" she laughs. "I'm used to it. It's kind of a hazard of the job. Besides...I derive my relevance from helping others."

"But he  _does_  acknowledge you," you point out.

"To some extent. He acknowledges me because he knows that I have something that he wants. Therefore, I am useful."

"So, I am not useful," you conclude.

"Not at the moment. But I'm sure that will change."

"I'm not sure if you are aware of this…of course, I don't see how you possibly could be. But you...resemble our mother, somewhat."

She seems flattered.

"Do I?"

"Your hair, especially," you add, gesturing to her long, thick braid. "And your manner…the way in which you speak. Something I can't quite place."

"Loki was fond of his mother?"

"Aye…and she of him."

"That's good to know."

"It is difficult to see him like this."

"Yes, I imagine it would be."

"Please do not misunderstand me. I am grateful that he is alive, and for all that you are doing. But…I often wonder if it would not be better if he had simply perished."

She is unfazed by your admission. She does not admonish you, but instead poses a question.

"You say this because you are concerned about the quality of his life? Or because you feel guilty that he suffered, and you can't do anything about it."

You consider it.

"Both, I suppose."

"Well, there's nothing you can do about the latter. It has already happened. So, it is a waste of time to agonize over it. As for the former…does he appear to be suffering?"

"When we found him, he was practically starved to death. Even now, he continues to dwell in darkness...because his eyes cannot tolerate the light. He does not speak, at least not in any way that I can understand. He cannot walk. He crawls about like a beast..."

"That is not what I asked. I asked if he appears to be suffering."

Does Loki appear to be suffering? Not really. You can scarcely recall Loki ever looking so delighted as he did just now. But that does not mean it is right for him to behave this way.

"He has lost his mind," you assert, in lieu of an answer.

"Another assumption...and not an unreasonable one. But he is not feeble-minded, and he is not insane. He has simply adapted to his circumstances. All living things adapt to their circumstances if they want to survive. For a great span of time he had no need for verbal communication, no exposure to other living things…and therefore no need for social interaction, no need to concern himself with the expectations of others. He had no exposure to furniture or objects of any kind. He was in total darkness. So...he retreated into his mind. All the words, and the people, and the furniture and the objects and the light that he needed were stored in there."

"But that is no longer the case. He is free."

"That's correct. His circumstances have changed again. He will have to adapt once more. He will need to relearn how to experience and interact with the people and the objects in his space."

"And you think he will?"

"I am certain of it. I've been working with him for less than a month and he has already made tremendous progress."

"This is progress?" you inquire, incredulously.

"I'm told that when he first regained consciousness, he ripped out his IV and his feeding tube. He wouldn't take any food orally. He would smell it and touch it. After a few days, he began allowing himself to taste it. Despite the fact that he was probably starving, it still took almost two weeks before he was willing to put anything into his mouth and swallow it. And even then, he only consumed tiny portions. When they started giving him solid foods...his nurses discovered that he was stuffing it into his pillowcase."

"Why would he do that?"

"Most likely because he couldn't be sure whether more food would be available later. He was storing it away, just in case."

"This is why they wanted me to wait," you say, mostly to yourself.

When you found Loki, he was unconscious. And he looked dreadful...his body filthy, his face concealed by matted hair, his fingernails long and gnarled. Those things were easily remedied. But without any access to healers, you were completely at a loss of how to proceed beyond that point. Bruce suggested you take Loki to Earth. And in your desperation, you begged your Midgardian friends for help. You insisted that your brother was a changed man, that he deserved the opportunity to survive. They took some convincing, but they eventually agreed to render assistance. Loki remained in what your friends referred to as a  _coma_  for several weeks, while his organs regained their function.

Stark was particularly helpful. He had many resources and located a number of practitioners who he described as  _specialists_ in treating  _prisoners of war_. Once Loki was in their care, however, the practitioners insisted upon working without any interference from you. They said it would compromise Loki's progress to have distractions early on in his recovery. You were reluctant to relinquish any sort of control over the situation. You were certain that they had ill intentions towards Loki, that perhaps they still viewed him as a threat that they needed to extinguish. But Stark was adamant that they were completely professional and could be trusted.

"The first day I saw him," the woman shares, "he had already been here for over a month. They brought him into one of the observation rooms...a room like this one. He ripped the chairs apart and threw all the pieces against the wall. He even ate some of the wood."

You cannot imagine your brother doing such a thing. Now you are relieved that you were not there to witness it. You are equally relieved that this woman is here to tend to Loki's needs.

"Did he hurt you?" you wonder aloud.

"So far he hasn't hurt anyone but himself. He doesn't go out of his way to touch anyone else."

There is a quiet knock at the door. The woman goes to answer it. It is a younger woman, a  _nurse_ , who she allows to enter the room.

"This room is not secure," you note.

"It locks from the inside," the woman explains.

"You're not concerned that my brother might...attempt to escape?"

She shakes her head.

"He doesn't really seem to be interested in escaping. Besides, I don't think he would get very far."

"Why's that?"

"He isn't too fond of bright light or wide, open spaces."

The nurse approaches Loki, slowly and quietly. When she is a few meters away from him, she lowers herself to the floor and sits beside him. With one hand, she pulls a syringe from her pocket, uncaps it and stabs it into his thigh. She recaps the syringe and pops it back in her pocket. She pulls a second syringe from her pocket and repeats the process. He appears disinterested in her ministrations. When the nurse is done, she stands back up and leaves the room.

"What did she give him?" you ask, once the nurse is gone.

"One is a vitamin cocktail. He still isn't eating enough. And now that he is conscious, he won't allow them to insert another IV. I think the other is a mild sedative."

"Sedative," you repeat. You are unfamiliar with that word.

"Something to help him relax."

"Why would he need that?"

"This is an unfamiliar environment. And unfamiliar environments are stressful. Stress affects the body's ability to function. And sometimes...stress makes people rip apart furniture and try to eat it."

You nod. That is reasonable, you suppose.

She eyes you, thoughtfully.

"If you don't mind me asking...and I realize that it's none of my business. But how exactly is it that he came to be this way?"

"I assumed you knew."

"I'm afraid that's a little above my pay grade," she confides.

"Ah."

"I know who you are," she adds. "I mean,  _everyone_  knows who you are."

"But you must have been told something."

"I was told that he was deprived of light and contact with other living things for a very long time. I know that you and your brother are...not from around here. And that's about all I know."

"Loki was trapped in some kind of…"  _What had Bruce called it?_  "...pocket universe. It was a confined space that existed separately from all the other space around it. He was only missing from us for days. But within the space where he dwelt, time passed more quickly...relatively speaking."

"How much more quickly?"

"We have reason to believe he may have been in there for somewhere between five hundred and a thousand years."

She gasps.

"When they told me it had been a  _very long time_ , I assumed they meant months, maybe a year or two. How is that even possible? The average life expectancy for a human is seventy-five."

"Asgardians live much longer than that...five thousand years or more."

"Still...how could he survive so long without food?"

"We do not know. It's possible that someone came to feed him at some point. He was unconscious when we recovered him, and severely malnourished. The first doctor who examined him said that it appeared he'd been surviving on his own body fat. Not that he had all that much to begin with. He's always been rather thin. He'd entered a state of hibernation, so to speak. And it was only by accident that we happened upon him in the first place. I believe he was meant to die in there. And he would have, if we had not found him when we did."

"Wait...are you saying that someone did this to him intentionally?"

You nod.

"Aye."

"Why?"

"Revenge, I suppose."

"For what?"

You have your suspicions. But they are unconfirmed. And thus, you would rather not share them.

"I don't know."

"Who would do such a thing?"

That you  _do_  know.

"It was a being called Thanos. He had dire plans for your realm, from what I understand...as well as every other corner of the universe."

She seems alarmed.

"Where is he now?"

"Do not fret," you assure her. "He is no longer. When I discovered what he did to my brother, I sought him out. He has since been...eliminated."

She looks over at Loki, who is now lying on his back. His knees are bent. It's obvious that he is not wearing anything underneath his gown. Although he does not appear to care. He is holding the rain stick with both hands, sliding it back and forth, listening to the sound it makes.

"Ooh," he says, contentedly.

You chuckle, softly.

"I believe he approves of your gift."

She smiles.

"I am inclined to agree."


End file.
